Merritt had tolerated the long railway journey to Glasgow quite well. It was after a sail on a mail packet down Loch Fyne, however, and then another packet steamer down the loch of West Tarbert, that she began to feel tired and a bit queasy. It was a pity she couldn’t enjoy the trip down the freshwater loch on the handsome black and white paddle ship, adorned with a striped awnings over the deck seating. But she’d made the mistake of starting out in the large ladies’ cabin down below, and the subtle rocking had set her system in revolt. She left one of the deck chairs and went to the railing, hoping the rush of cold air over her face would help to calm her unsettled stomach.
“Milady?” she heard someone ask hesitantly, and she turned to see an elderly couple approaching. The woman, stout and attractive in a striped skirt and dark green traveling cloak, was a stranger, but the man with her, wizened and lean, with a shock of silver hair beneath a flat cap, looked vaguely familiar. As she stared at him, she remembered he’d been one of the distillerymen who’d first come with Keir to London.
“Mr. Slorach,” he said, tapping his chest, “and ’tis my wife Fia.”
“Mr. Slorach,” Merritt exclaimed, summoning a weak smile. “How delightful it is to see you again. And Mrs. Slorach . . . a pleasure . . .”
“I cannae believe my eyes,” the man exclaimed, “to see such a grand lady on a steamer from Tarbert!”
Grimacing, Merritt turned back to the water. “Oh dear,” she said thickly. “Not so grand at the moment. How mortifying, I’m so . . .” Leaning over the railing, she panted and sweated.
Mrs. Slorach came to stand beside her, producing a white linen cloth from somewhere and handing it to her. “Now, now, poor lass,” she said, patting Merritt’s back gently. “A wee brash of the heaves is nothing to worry about. Dinna fash. Go on and let it oot.”
To Merritt’s everlasting embarrassment, she did just that, retching helplessly over the railing. When the spasms were over, she used the cloth to wipe her mouth. She apologized profusely as the couple guided her to an empty section of deck seating. “Thank you, Mrs. Slorach, I’m so sorry—”
“Fia.” The woman looked over her kindly. “There was no’ much to come up,” she remarked. “Hae you eaten today, lass?”
“I had a slice of toast for breakfast . . .” The very thought of it made her ill.
“Ye need more than that for your inwards. Never set off on an empty stomach.” She rummaged in a basket she’d been carrying over her arm, and took out a little napkin-wrapped parcel. “Nibble on one of these, dearie, and it will set you to rights.”
“How kind. I’m not sure—what is it?” Merritt recoiled as Fia unwrapped a little stack of square-shaped beef sausage without casings, the slices fried and cooled. “Dear heaven, no, please, that will be the death of me.”
“A wee nibble. Just one.” A sausage square, held in a napkin, followed the movements of Merritt’s face as she tried to avoid it.
Having no choice but to surrender, Merritt suppressed a gag and bit off a tiny corner.
Mercifully, the sausage was bland and slightly dry. She forced it down. To her astonishment, the nausea began to fade miraculously. She took the patty and began to consume it slowly.
“That’s the way of it,” Fia said, a smile crossing her round face. “Common beef sausage is what aye put me to rights when I was in your condition.”
“Condition?” Merritt repeated, nibbling and chewing.
“Why, biggen with bairn, of course.”
“Oh.” Merritt’s eyes widened. “I don’t think . . . no, I’m quite sure that’s not it.”
Mr. Slorach spoke then, telling his wife, “Lady Merritt is a widow, you ken.”
“Ahhh.” But Fia looked over her speculatively, as if cataloging details. “Are you gang to Islay, then?”
“Yes.” With each bite of cold fried beef, Merritt felt better and better. In fact, it was giving her a surge of new energy.
When Merritt finished the sausage slice, Fia gave her another, while Mr. Slorach viewed her with increasing concern.
“May I ask who’re you after visiting on the island, milady?” he inquired.
“Mr. MacRae,” Merritt replied.
Slorach nodded slowly. “He came back hame only yesterday. I’ve not seen him yet, as Fia and I were off to visit our daughter in East Tarbert.” He hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lady Merritt? Aught I can help with?”
“I wouldn’t call it a problem,” she said. “Mr. MacRae and I struck up an acquaintance during his stay in England. He left rather suddenly, and . . . I need to speak to him about a personal matter. Perhaps you could tell me how to find transportation to the distillery once we reach Port Askaig?”
The husband and wife stared at each other with thunderstruck expressions, evidently coming to some dire conclusion about why she would be traveling alone to find Keir after his abrupt departure from England. “I told you, Fia,” Slorach exclaimed in a low voice. “I should ne’er have left him to gallyvant and strollop about that wicked toon. ’Tis corrupted him, London has, as I said it would.”
Fia nodded and told Merritt stoutly, “Dinna be feart, milady, we’ll see to it the lad does the dacent thing by you. We owe it to Elspeth and Lachlan, God rest their souls.”
As the Slorachs accompanied Merritt across the island in a cart pulled by drays, she was struck by Islay’s remote, stark beauty. There were northern and western hills covered with open fetches of heath and arable land, clean white shores scoured by waves, and deep lochs cutting through the rugged terrain. But there were also villages with neat rows of whitewashed houses, and streets overrun with ducks and geese. People milled around shops or stood around wayside taverns talking in small groups. “’Tis always Saturday afternoon on Islay,” Slorach told Merritt cheerfully.
They approached the distillery, a set of large whitewashed buildings built on low-lying peninsular rock, with a perfect view of the cold blue sea. Merritt’s heart began to pound as they followed a drive around the distillery and reached a small, neat house with a gray slate roof, and a fenced-in kitchen garden just visible in the back.
The carriage stopped, and Slorach helped his wife and Merritt down. They started on a path of stepping stones leading to the house. Before they even reached the front door, it opened and a small, silver-gray terrier came bounding out. He stopped a few yards away from Merritt and growled.
“Hello, Wallace,” she said with a faint smile, and stood still as he came to her. The terrier circled around her, sniffing at her skirts. In a moment he gazed up at her with bright eyes and a wagging tail, and let her pet him. “What a handsome boy you are,” she exclaimed, smoothing his fur.
“Merry,” she heard, and looked up to find Keir striding toward her.
“Don’t be angry,” Merritt said, her lips trembling as she tried to smile.
But if there was anger mixed in with Keir’s emotions, it was far outweighed by concern, love, and longing. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, and clasped her head against his chest. “My heart, what are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice. “How did you . . . My God, dinna tell me you came alone. I know you did. Damn it, Merry . . .”
Slorach spoke up then. “Fia and I met her on the way back from Tarbert. She was ill on the packet.”
Keir turned pale, and guided Merritt to look up at him. “Ill?”
“Just a bit seasick,” she assured him.
Slorach gave Keir a dark glance. “Fia is of the mind the lass is in a hopeful way.”
Fia nodded firmly, ignoring Merritt’s sputtering protest. “Look at the palms of her hands,” she said. “See you how pink they are, a bit paler in the centers? And do you ken what calmed the heaves? Beef sausage, that’s what.” She gave an emphatic nod, as if that proved a point.
Keir smoothed Merritt’s hair and looked down at her. “You’re a willful lass,” he muttered. “Traveling here by yourself? Of all the crackbrain, reckless notions—” He broke off, scowling. “We’re going to have words over this, Merry, and a sore hearing it will be for you.” But his hands cradled her face as he spoke, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her forehead, cheeks, chin, and the tip of her nose.
“I had to come,” Merritt said reasonably, thrilling to the feel of his arms around her. “You forgot to leave the key to the lock. I had no way of removing the bracelet.”
“I meant it to stay on you,” he told her, and pressed his cheek to hers. “To remind you whose heart is in your keeping.”
“I don’t need reminding of that,” she whispered. He ducked his head to kiss the side of her neck.
“Young MacRae,” Slorach demanded, “do you mean to make it right for this puir lady you did wrang by?”
“I do—” Keir began, and paused as someone emerged from the distillery. Following his gaze, Merritt saw Ethan Ransom approaching.
Ethan smiled at her. “I told MacRae I thought you’d show up here, no matter what he or anyone else said.”
“Why?” she asked sheepishly. “I suppose I must strike you as remarkably obstinate?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s only that my wife would have done the same thing.”
Keir kept his arm around Merritt as he turned more fully toward Ethan. “Ransom . . . I’d be obliged if you’d send one of your men to fetch the sheriff. Before we’re beset by assassins, it seems we have the small matter of a wedding to take care of.”
